


Helping Hands

by Zamietka



Series: Gintama shorties [5]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zamietka/pseuds/Zamietka
Summary: The people you trust are always willing to lend a hand.
Relationships: Otose | Terada Ayano & Sakata Gintoki, Sakata Gintoki & Yoshida Shouyou
Series: Gintama shorties [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895635
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Helping Hands

_It was hard to trust Shoyo at first._

The corpse-eating demon might have been young, but he wasn't stupid. Nothing good ever came from talking to the adults that approached him; they only had bad intentions, lies hidden under their flowery tongues. The rare, honest ones just called him a devil and wanted him gone from their sight. But Shoyo was different; intriguing, even. He only touched him on the head gently, talked some nonsense about protecting people… And gave him his sword. Not some cheap bribe of sweets or pocket money, but an actual weapon. Leaving him with a choice.

“If you wish to learn how to use it, come with me.”

Follow or not; simple words, a simple choice. 

So he followed, fully expecting the usual lies to come. Where was the catch, in all this behavior? But days after days, Shoyo did nothing wrong, only smiled, and smiled, patiently and gently, teaching him about the world as they travelled, like he would to any normal kid.

Things were changing fast. Shoyo gave him the new sword, and new clothes. A bath he absolutely hated. He still wouldn't let himself have a haircut like Shoyo wanted - who would let scissors go wild around their head? - but that alone made him feel different, a bit more worthy of walking among the other people.

He was also given a name. He had long forgotten his own name and never bothered with a new one. A name, something so inherently human.

_Gintoki._

Silver, silver like his hair that Shoyo touched during their first meeting. It was the first touch he felt in a long while, even though he couldn't help but snarl and jump away back then. Now, as the days passed, he slowly started to long for that touch again. Shoyo was patient with him, unnaturally patient, and mostly kept a distance, seeing how apprehensive Gintoki was with a touch, keeping it to a bare minimum, and Gintoki didn't know how to approach his Sensei about it.

When the weather got colder, Shoyo gave him a scarf; red and warm. Gin didn’t know where he got it from. Neither of them owned very much, in this land ravaged with poverty and hunger, both unprepared for the long winter days that were about to come, but it had made the gift feel so much more precious.

“We don't want you to get hypothermia, hm?” Shoyo had said, as he wrapped the material around his protege's neck carefully, and Gintoki couldn’t help but stare as the other’s neck stayed bare and exposed to the cold.

It was probably then that Gin first realised that Shoyo really cared about him. Any other adult would keep the piece of clothing to himself to keep warm.

And he had also realised that... He trusted Shoyo. Plain and simple. So he reached out and grabbed his sensei’s hand timidly.

“My hands are cold,” he muttered, when Shoyo raised his eyebrows at him, visibly surprised. Sensei’s hands were warm, very unlike the cold bodies of the dead and cold gazes thrown at him in the villages. 

So Shoyo grabbed his hand tighter, as they walked.

***

" _It's bad when you get cold and stop trembling,_ " Shoyo has told him once, during one of their many travels.

It was a long, long time ago; it almost felt like a lifetime, but feeling the same, intense cold seeping into his bones, Gintoki couldn’t help but reminiscent. It was their first winter together, the freezing winds unforgiving for the two travellers, a kid and his Sensei. The bitter cold seemingly similar to what he was feeling right now, and yet so, so different. ~~Because Shoyo was dead.~~

The snow was falling gently, blending right into the silvery hue of his hair. He blinked at the flakes, unfocused.

" _You need to get to a warm place as fast as possible,_ " Shoyo’s voice ringed in his head, uselessly. _Yes, Sensei, very funny._ If only he wasn't dragging his ass away from the prison with no hope for any future right now.

He, Shiroyasha, should be dead.

Sakata Gintoki ~~was scared of~~ didn't believe in ghosts, but he couldn't help but think that something akin to Shoyo's will lingered around him. 

It was like someone persistently tried to light a match that was long burnt out. Tossed away and obviously of no use to anybody, yet still given a chance. He didn't want it. He felt like just lying down there, on a street, dying like a stray dog. The end befitting of him, really. But he made a promise. What would his death mean to the girl and the executioner? To Sensei, whom he promised that his students would be protected? The least he could do was take the chances tossed right at him, out of respect to the people he met, if nothing else.

That's what he thought, despite growing weakness in his muscles dragging himself forward, and forward, shivering in his ragged prison attire, his mind foggy and body numb from the cold and hunger. 

Forward and forward, until he slid down, hissing as his back, still hurt from the treatment it got in the prison, painfully scraped the stone he found himself by. 

_A stone?_ He blinked against the fuzzy outline of the tombstones surrounding him. A graveyard. He closed his eyes, unmoving. He tried. He didn't give up until the very end, and it didn't even make a difference. Except that it will be more convenient to bury his body right here and then, maybe. Less work for the gravediggers.

On the verge of consciousness, he thought he saw Shoyo again, leaning into his childhood self, stretching out a hand to the corpse eating demon, just a kid abandoned by the world.

***

_“I came after hearing about a corpse-eating demon... would that be you?”_

_“A rather cute demon.”_

***

He heard someone move behind him and he jerked awake, blinking away the snow covering his eyelashes. His gaze only found an old woman, visiting the grave he tainted with his presence.

He tried to stay quiet, at first, but the sole sight of the buns she brought in an offering made his stomach, long deprived of any real food, quiver. He sputtered involuntarily:

“Are those manju?”

_The dead don't talk,_ he had said, yet thought of Shoyo, and all the people he met, trying to keep him alive. Maybe this was another chance. He was tempted to see how long one person's will could carry on.

So he made another promise.

***

Otose didn't believe in ghosts.

She had respect for the dead, sure, but she was too old and rational for this nonsense. And yet...

She couldn't help but think that her late husband might have put a hand into this, placing this odd kid sputtering nonsense promises right on her way to pick up. He was one of these people who knew her best, knew that she had a weak heart, really, when it came to strays that needed help.

And heavens know, this boy needed it. A soldier, for sure - she knew this kind, looking like they were through hell and back, holding themselves up like walking corpses, with the eyes dead to the world. A hopeless kind, a lot of times, but he was only a teen, so young, with a whole life ahead of him. And she swore she could see a glint in these eyes, a small flame that would keep burning against all odds, persistently, until death snuffed it out. 

She wasn't even sure if he would survive, given his miserable state. He was skin and bones, with only the thin ragged clothing on his back, still fresh wounds stark on his pale skin. 

But the least she could do was take him somewhere warm; and if she could give someone a safe place before death… Sometimes that was enough, wasn’t it?

They walked slowly, taking breaks every once and then, their silence only broken by the boy’s pained breaths. At some point he couldn't even stand upright on his own, leaning heavily on a lamp post and panting like he just ran a marathon. She waited patiently for him to move again. But when he didn't, she just rolled her eyes and placed his arm around her shoulder, helping him stand up. If she had to drag him, then so be it.

He blinked at her in confusion, probably surprised with her eagerness to help him.

“Oh, I am taking you with me, kid. You need to pay off these manju now. Come on.”

He wasn't shivering; a bad sign, but Otose couldn't say she was surprised. But home was just around the corner, and it was warm and safe; that’s the start.

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year!!  
> idk what this is even i just think too much and write the same shit over and over again im so sorry


End file.
